softly across the overlook
by this theory has been disproven
Summary: She could be a vibrant kind of beautiful, his ghost girl./NamineRiku AU


**softly across the overlook**

by _this theory has been disproven_

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Word Count: 803

Pairing: Namine/Riku

Summary: She could be a vibrant kind of beautiful, his ghost girl.

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_(slowly in life's serene perpetual round a pale world gathers comfort to her soul, hope richly scattered by the abundant sun invades the new mosaic of the ground—let but the incurious curtaining dusk be drawn surpassing nets are sedulously spun to snare the brutal dew,-the authentic scroll of fairie hands and vanishing with dawn.)_

-EE Cummings

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She was mostly nondescript, not very remarkable in any sense of the word. What could be said for her was that she was frightfully small, a thin, small, wisp of a girl with big blue eyes and white blonde hair, and a pasty complexion that gave the impression of a ghost.

No one ever noticed her, not really. She was much too willing to fade into the background, and unwilling to make a bold statement. She spoke softly, like a mouse, and she never ever looked anyone in the eye. People didn't know much about her; she never really advertised her own thoughts or opinions or talents. She could have been beautiful, but she had a weak heart, and she couldn't find the strength to believe in any beauty within her own self.

She was a closet artist. Her sketch book was always close to her side, but she'd only draw when absolutely no one could see her. Her favorite time to draw was right before the sun would rise. She'd sneak out to the beach, as the small seaside town took on a rosy hue. She'd sit on the shore and dig her toes into the sand, and she'd sketch hope and sadness and that lighthearted feeling you get when you take a nice, deep whiff of a sea breeze.

Namine, little ghost girl, was not the only one who took advantage of the solitude of the dawn time beach. Riku was a brooding young man. He'd been unlucky in love and unlucky in life, and, sometimes he was bitter, and sometimes he was not. He was a handsome young man, and maybe a little arrogant. He was equally reserved, but he was admired rather than ignored. People loved him. Perhaps it was a combination of his looks and his aloof, bad boy attitude, but he did not care for the attention of others.

The only girl that had ever really caught his attention was a willful redhead, passionate and beautiful and so not in love with him. She was dating his best friend and he was much too tough to ever admit how much it gnawed at him.

He would go to the beach at that dawn time and look out at the sea and the sky. He enjoyed his privacy. He was an introvert at heart, and so he'd creep down to the beach and soak in the sunrise and the peace.

They met each other one day, during their morning me time, but they did not say a word to each other. It was an unspoken agreement, that they would pass each other and pretend that the other did not exist. It was easy enough, they didn't really know each other and they were both much too introverted to notice the people around them.

One day, however, he sat next to her and it was the start of a very very unconventional relationship. He never said a word to her and she never said a word to him and they never really understood why they sat next to each other in the first place.

(However, they've always always been lonely)

And eventually he grew tired of the silence, because, although he was a quiet man, he was still a man, and she was always hunched over her sketchbook and curiosity was sure to get the best of him.

"What are you drawing?" he asked her one day. They sat very close to each other and any passerby would have mistaken the two friends by necessity for lovers.

She peered up at him, but she did not flush at the proximity. She spoke to her sketch pad.

"It's the overlook all the way over there," she pointed out to the far end of the island, where the cliff protruded out over the tumultuous sea.

Her voice was very soft, not quite a whisper, but not nearly loud enough to be considered normal speech.

He didn't usually hand out compliments but her small hands clutched her pencil and sketched furiously and there was something special in the surreal/realism of the outcropping and the waves.

"You're really good."

He said it in a way that was fairly neutral in tone, not particularly complimentary for his kind words but not insulting either.

She smiled softly and thanked him and that was the end of their conversation for that day. He began to notice that her sketches held the vibrancy that her life did not, and it was almost an escape of sorts for her (or so he deduced).

They were no longer silent when they sat on the beach, but their discussions mostly revolved around her sketches and his future and it was almost like they were friends.

And then one day he leaned over and kissed her.

(It was all rather unexpected)

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A/N: I really have no idea where I'm going with this. I suppose I could leave it as a oneshot, or I can continue it as a short multichapter story (approximately 3 chapters give or take)

Reviews would be very lovely so if you would?


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